


Crowning Chaos

by linaseraphina



Series: Magisterium AU's [2]
Category: Magisterium Series - Holly Black & Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Princess Diaries Fusion, Angst, Bisexual Callum Hunt, Call's Shenanigans™, Canon Disabled Character, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Insecurity, M/M, Modern Royalty, Politics, Princes & Princesses, Social Media, but mostly crack, that should be a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-12 06:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11155887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaseraphina/pseuds/linaseraphina
Summary: A princess diaries au, featuring Call as the reluctant prince of a small European country, Jasper deWinter as his snobby princely tutor, Tamara Rajavi as the tough, but well-meaning designated genius, and Aaron Stewart as very confused.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It deadass took me since DECEMBER to finish this. The google doc is 53 pages long. My life is in disarray. Everything is falling apart.
> 
> Well, anyway. Here's the first chapter (since I don't have the entire fic finished yet hahaha fml)
> 
> This is based more off the book than the movie. For those who haven't read the book, I HIGHLY suggest it, it's hilarious

 

**CNN**

**BREAKING NEWS: King of Genovia Announces Retirement**

Wed, 1:37 PM, December 21st, Hayley Stenburgh

CNN -- **Here’s some drama to kick off the new year.** For the first time in fourteen years, The United Republic of Genovia, one of the world's wealthiest and most isolated monarchies in Europe, has just announced this past Sunday that a new king will be chosen to rule over the country within the following year. King William von Rufus De la Iglesias the Third, the last remaining member of the Novak family, concurred these claims in a speech last week stating that he will be retiring early from his position, something that hasn’t been done since the country's founding.

After the infamous slaughtering in Peru that took the lives of Genovia’s beloved previous Queen, Sarah Novak, along with her brother Declan and many other members of the royal family, King Rufus assumed the throne in his niece's place and has been ruling for nearly fifteen years---that is, until recently. Because of his retirement and because he is the last true member of the original bloodline, the Genovian parliament has been forced to consider loosely connected family members to ascend to the throne in his place.

Already tension is brewing in the royal court between possible inheritors of the crown. The Baron deWinter, despite being first in line should the King ever step down, unfortunately has received a rather poor reception from the people after last year’s comments towards the working class and refugee programs. On the other hand, the Duchess Tarquin, while only coming third in line to the crown, has been praised continuously these past few years for her thoughts on education and her actions towards immigration reform. Despite both the Duchess Tarquin and the Baron deWinter being strong contenders, His Majesty has not made clear who will ascend to the throne in his place; in fact, he refuses to answer any questions on the topic and will soon be leaving for America in the wake of this political turmoil, possibly to avoid any and all inquiries on the fate of the monarchy.

With rumors of a possible illegitimate heir circulating the internet as of late, His Majesty’s sudden departure comes off as nothing but suspicious. However, until such an announcement is made, the people are left in obscurity for the remaining months leading up to the next coronation.

**+986,987 likes**

* * *

 

**twentyoneproblems posted this**

**@twentyoneproblems:** o h my god?? WHY is he retiring he’s barely been in office for fourteen years that is NOT long enough

#genovia #new king #???? #im not ready #2016 just got worse  **+330 likes**

 **beanman replied:** he’s like fifty million years old and he only got the crown bc he was LITERALLY the only royal left maybe the pressure got to be too much for him

 **TinySmol replied:** tbh idk if i’d be able to run a country after my entire family’s been slaughtered and yet this man does it for fourteen years i think we should give him some more credit **+3 likes**

 **yaegermanjensen replied:** I’m gonna miss him so much omg ;( I’m not ready to let him leave me and my mom are actually crying rn **+22 likes**

 **@mierda:** Lo voy a extrañar muchísimo ;; **\+ 6 likes**

 **@iluvJasperdeWinter:** everyone needs to get over it lmao like he already made the speech so chill tf out. now that rufus is out of the picture we can finally get the deWinters in office and the country will FINALLY get turned around

#Jasper deWinter #deWinter family #make genovia great again #elitist party  **+47 likes**

 **thefaultwithourgovernment replied:** blocked

 **yaegermanjensen replied** : blocked

 **celia_cutie replied:** blocked

 **twentyoneproblems to @iluvJasperdeWinter:** please do not start any #discourse on my page thnx

 **@iluvJasperdeWinter:** you can block me but you can’t block out the truth

 **celia_cutie replied:** b l o c k e d **+7 likes**

* * *

 

It all started on a Monday, as most tragedies do.

He knew it was a bad idea, he knew that he would get in trouble for it, but Callum Hunt wasn’t the type of kid who normally stressed about meaningless things like “rules” and how he should abide by them. If he wanted to do something, he did it--and in this case, pranking the superintendent’s daughter and sending her home with a ruined locker and a fair amount of emotional scarring was _definitely_ worth the three weeks of detention he was facing.

Unfortunately the principal didn’t seem to think the same way he did, going by her expression. But what did she know? As far as Call’s concerned, this prank wasn’t even that _bad_. At least no one ended up in the hospital this time.

( _“You should really apologize to Kylie Myles for what you did,” said Ms. Milagros. “She was crying.”_

" _She cried?,” he asked eagerly. “Did anyone get it on video? Can you send it to me?”_ )

You know, he thought he’d really gotten off the hook with this one when Milagros only sentenced him to 3 Saturday detentions and a call home to his father, but he honestly should’ve known better.

His dad didn’t drop the bomb on him until later.

“I called your Great Uncle Rufus,” Alastair told him over the dinner table that night. And Call, well, he’s never exactly gone pale from fear before (he’s Hispanic, there’s no way he’s turning _white_ at any rate) but he definitely felt the blood drain from his face in a way that was sure to be noticeable.

His father continued calmly, “He’s apparently on his way to New York.” A pause. “He should be here by tomorrow.”

Call couldn’t help it. He spat out his coffee. Then immediately started coughing and hacking up a lung, while Alastair mildly held his newspaper out of reach of the mess dribbling across the table.

Havoc let out a small _woof_ of concern, but Call was too busy _dying_ to really comfort his wolf/husky puppy. “Uncle Rufus is coming _here?_ Tomorrow?! Why??”

He barely looked up from his plate. “To see you.” And with that ominous note, got up to go wash the dishes. Call stared after him in abject horror.

When he told Tamara the next day during detention she didn’t exactly have the reaction he was expecting. All she said was, “Isn’t that the same uncle who pays for your tuition here?”

“Yes,” he said impatiently. She was totally missing the big picture here. “And the same uncle who’s paid for all of my surgeries, and the same uncle who gave me Havoc, and the same uncle who I haven’t spoken to in over five years, Tamara!”

When she continued to braid her hair in silence, Call draped himself over her desk. “Do you know why that is, Tamara? It’s because he’s _evil_ , Tamara!”

“Oh no,” she said flatly. “And why is that?”

He glanced carefully around the room to make sure no one was listening.

“Because he's part of the mafia,” he whispered with certainty.

“ _What?_ ”

“It's true! There's so many clues. He's super rich but he hasn't worked a day in his life, he _says_ he has a job in politics, but he’s never told me exactly what kind of job.” He threw his hands up in the air. “He has a _private jet_ , Tamara!”

He dragged his hands through wild black hair, down his face, and then slapped the table with both palms. “He's probably here to try to initiate me into his gang and do underground drug runs or whatever to carry on the family name. Tamara, I cannot go to that meeting.”

“I think you’re just being dramatic,” she replied. “Besides, my parents own a private jet and they’re not evil.”

But that was different, because the Drs. Rajavi were actually world-renowned psychoanalysts so it made _sense_ that they had a bunch of money. Nearly everyone at Magisterium High came from rich families, considering it was a private school smack dab in the middle of Manhattan, but Call wasn’t necessarily a “rich kid”, nor was he accessible to the mysterious inheritance his Great Uncle Rufus used to pay for his school costs. Call and Alastair just kind of did their own thing and got money from time to time like some weird form of child support. Besides that, he knew basically nothing about his uncle.

Which brought up the question: why exactly was his uncle coming to see him? His dad said it was because he kept getting sent to the principal’s office, but he knew that wasn’t true because when he got expelled from his _last_ school his Uncle just sent him money to pay for tuition elsewhere. There had to be a reason why he suddenly wanted to be in his life again.

“This is what you get for putting a dead frog in Kylie Myle’s locker,” Tamara shrugged, and Call made an offended noise.

“I did it because she was making fun of you! Don’t I get any thanks for my sacrifices?”

“I can take care of myself. You, obviously, cannot.” Once she was satisfied with her hair, she turned to face him. With the combination of pigtails, a pinafore dress, and copious amounts of eyeliner she looked like some kind of demonic school girl.

“Anyway, enough about your weird uncle. Are you taking anyone to the dance?”

Call immediately sat up. He almost wanted to laugh, but Tamara was giving him a totally serious look and he realized that she was, in fact, not joking. “The winter formal? You act like I’m actually going.”

“That’s because you _are_ going,” she told him. “ _Tamara Tells It Like It Is_ is doing a news story and discussion on the effects of social gatherings on the teenage psyche.” She gave him a Look. “And we need our camera man.”

He groaned. He was glad that Tamara’s public access TV show was gaining more traction, but he really really did not want to go to the dance. And if he did end up going, which he really did not want to, he would have to take someone with him. Because what kind of poor sap shows up to a school dance alone? Not Call.

So he put on his best fake smile and fluttered his eyelashes at his best friend. “Of course. Miss Rajavi, would you do me the honor--”

“No,” she said. Call deflated. “ _I_ already have a date.”

“What! No way.” She smiled secretly to herself and he gasped. “Who asked you?”

“All in due time, young grasshopper,” she said, patting his hair. “What we need to focus on is getting _you_ a date. Now, I’ve compiled a list--”

“Miss Rajavi! Mister Hunt!,” a voice barked from the front of the room, and both students jerked in surprise. “If I catch you talking one more time I’m giving you another detention.”

They turned away from each other, pretending to work, but obviously started whispering again once the teacher’s back was turned.

“How did you even end up in here, anyway?,” Call asked curiously. It wasn’t like Tamara to get detentions. Or, to be exact, it wasn’t like her to get _caught_.

She rolled her eyes. “Someone tipped off the principal about the student walk-out on Friday and Milagros gave me two days for “attempting to disrupt class”.”

The door to the LRC opened and a blond head poked his way in. None of the other students paid any mind, except for Call, who’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as the boy approached the teacher’s desk and handed him a red folder.

“I bet you it was Stewart,” Call said darkly, inclining his head to the boy chatting amicably with the teacher. “He’s a snitch.”

“What? Aaron’s nice,” Tamara defended. She smiled and waved at the soccer player, and he waved back.

“Yeah, I know,” he agreed. “He’s super nice and tall and blond and plays soccer and never gets in trouble. People like that make me _sick._ ”

Aaron’s green eyes slid over from Tamara to meet Call’s glare, and his cheeks turned red. Yeah, he _should_ feel embarrassed for telling on Call’s best friend. Call hoped he tripped on a banana peel or something. Tamara needs the justice she deserves.

“You are honestly ridiculous,” Tamara murmured under her breath. Then popped her gum.

* * *

 

**_January, Detention_ **

  ** _TAMARA’S ULTIMATE LIST OF POSSIBLE WINTER FORMAL DATES (with commentary by callum hunt)_**

  * _**_Gwenda_** _(I would consider it, if she didn’t already hate my guts)__


  * **_Kylie Myles_** _(YEAH ok)_ ** _Why not? It could happen_** _(yeah sure, “hey Kylie sorry I put a dead frog in your locker, will you go to the dance with me??” not happening, chica)_


  * **_Aaron Stewart_** _(Tamara you’re not even trying)_


  * **_Alex Strike_** _(??? Isn’t he dating your sister??)_


  * **_Kimiya Rajavi_** _(I’d rather stuff rusty scissors in my ears, no offense)_ ** _None taken_**


  * **_Havoc_** _(YES)_


  * **_Rafe_** _(talks too much)_


  * **_Kai_** _(talks too little)_


  * **_That One Creepy Girl Who Draws Pentacles In the Bathroom Stalls_** _(...maybe)_


  * **_The Garbage Can in the Cafeteria_** _(no, really, thank you. My self esteem is just ascending)_



 

_This is rigged. You didn’t even put enough people on here._

**_You literally don’t know anyone else._ **

_Celia???_

**_She’s not allowed. Besides, you don’t even know her last name._ **

_What do you mean she’s not allowed? And yes I do, it’s...Johnson._

**_No, Call._ **

_Smith? It has to be Smith._

**_Just stop._ **

* * *

 

Call caught a taxi after he was let out of detention and fiddled with the buttons on his blazer the entire way there. A few minutes later the taxi driver pulled up to the extravagance that was the Plaza Hotel.

Call hadn’t been here since his uncle’s last visit. Rufus always stayed here when he came to New York (he absolutely refused to stay anywhere else) which was as annoying as it was inconvenient.

At least he had the good sense to keep his uniform on. Last time he’d been there they refused to let him in because the owner of the hotel didn’t like baggy pants, and he’d had to call up to Uncle Rufus’ room to tell him he couldn’t come and see him. Of course, Uncle Rufus just asked to put the concierge on the phone, and seconds later they were apologizing like crazy and treating Call like a celebrity, which gave him a pretty good insight on how influential his uncle really was.

“Are you gonna sit there all day or what?,” barked the cab driver, making him jump. After handing him the money and mumbling an apology, Call exited the taxi and let out a long gust of air, trying not to feel too intimidated. Then he walked inside.

There were a lot more people on the inside compared to the outside. And it was more extravagant too; the entire room (if you could call it that) was swathed in gold from floor to ceiling, with intricate little diamond chandeliers dangling down like icicles across the main lobby. Call walked up to the front desk and tried not to marvel at his reflection in the polished tile underneath his beat up converse.

Once there he was greeted by a man with graying brown hair and watery blue eyes. Call blinked up at him. He looked important.

“Hi,” he said. “Are you the owner of the hotel?”

The man smiled kindly, but shook his head. “I’m not. My name is Joseph. I’m your Uncle’s...new assistant.” The smile turned wan. “Your Uncle Rufus is waiting for you in the restaurant. Please, come this way.”

He held his arm out like he expected Call to take it, which only made him mad. _Just_ because Call was crippled, people tried to go out of their way to help him all the time. Most people would think of it as a nice gesture, but to Call it almost seemed condescending.

He decided right then and there that he didn’t like Joseph.

Joseph led him to and through the restaurant past tables full of Korean tourists who snapped pictures every five seconds, another few tables of German tourists who were talking very loudly, and finally to the very back corner of the room where a tall, dark-skinned man was sitting, face hidden behind a newspaper. Joseph cleared his throat.

“Your M- I mean, Mister Rufus,” he stumbled, but Call didn’t catch it. He was too busy staring at the man’s bald spot. “Your nephew has arrived.”

Uncle Rufus looked up. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown either. His expression stayed perfectly neutral, even as he examined Call up and down with a lazer-like focus.

“Thank you, Joseph,” he said in that deep, rumbling voice of his, and the man stepped off back from whence he came. Rufus nodded at him. “Hello, Callum.”

“Hi, Uncle Rufus,” he fidgeted with his sleeve. God, he hated this part.

Rufus gestured for him to sit. “You've gotten...somewhat taller,” he said, and Call scowled at the sly jab as he sat down. “And you're looking more and more like your father every day.”

He said that like he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“Thanks,” Call said, just to be annoying. “Your bald spot is looking shinier than ever.”

No reaction. Call mentally kicked himself. He needed to try harder.

They fell into a bout of silence. While Call floundered to think of something else to talk about, Rufus just stared at him cozily across the table. This was bad. If he didn’t say something soon he was going to get nervous and blurt out something stupid.

“Um,” he started. “Nice...hotel, right?” Too late.

Rufus gave a barely there smile and hummed. “The restaurant is beautiful, no?”

“I guess,” Call said, avoiding eye-contact. “But maybe you should’ve picked somewhere less..,” he made a vague gesture. “Froo-froo?”

Rufus raised an eyebrow. “What would be more to your tastes then?”

Call wasn’t sure if he was patronizing him or genuinely asking. To be safe, he said, “I dunno, I guess McDonald’s would be too chill for this sort of meeting. Do you like Apple-Bee’s?”

Rufus folded his newspaper up and handed it to a passing server. “No,” he said. “I like _Pierre Gagnaire_.”

“Never heard of that,” Call replied. He looked at the table and then frowned when he only saw napkins. “Where’s the menu?”

“I already ordered our food. I didn’t want to make you wait long. When was the last time you ate?”

Call thought about it. “I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.”

He frowned at that, looking troubled. “You had a what?”

“And some fries,” he added hastily. “And a cupcake.” Although it was originally Tamara’s, not his.

Rufus shook his head and muttered. “I pay twenty thousand dollars a year for that school and they give you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Unbelievable.”

“It’s not that bad,” Call interjected. “I mean, yeah, sometimes it’s frozen and you nearly break your teeth trying to bite through an ice-block of jelly, but it tastes good and it’s somewhat nutritious, so.”

He was interrupted as the waiter came around and placed their meals on the table. The man was extremely nervous and when he tipped the pitcher of water he almost spilled their drinks. The poor dude looked like he was on the verge of tears as he profusely apologized, but Rufus just waved him off.

Call was suspicious. That was typical Mafioso behavior if he ever saw one (he hadn’t).

The plate set in front of Call was steaming hot and looked like some sort of fancily arranged meat. He wrinkled his nose and Rufus noticed. He asked him what was wrong with the food.

“I’m vegetarian,” he told him truthfully. “Y’know. Herbivore. Eat plants, not living creatures.”

“Since when? You used to eat meat all the time when you were younger.” For some reason he seemed deeply offended by this. Like Call being vegetarian was an insult of the highest degree.

“Key word being _younger_. I’m fourteen now. A lot can change in a few years.” They’d been here for about twenty minutes now. Call was getting impatient. His leg kept jiggling under the table and bumping the drinks and he knew his Uncle was getting annoyed, but he couldn’t stop. He blurted, “Um, why am I here exactly?”

Rufus gave him a long look. So long in fact that it was making him nervous just from how silent and judgmental he was being.

“This was a test,” Rufus said after a moment. “And I’m sorry to say this, but you failed.”

Call’s heart nearly stopped, but he tried to play it off with a shrug. “Darn, that’s too bad. Will you at least curve the grade?”

“This is serious, Callum,” he said. _Oh boy, here we go_. “I was hoping that now you’ve started high school you would have matured a bit, but I see my expectations were...naught.”

Call bristled, but tried not to show it. “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said through gritted teeth.

His uncle watched him carefully for a moment. Call wasn’t nervous anymore, just angry. He hated how his uncle always saw the worst in him. It’s been like this ever since he was born. Ever since he came out of that hospital room with a shattered leg and all of Rufus’ shattered dreams of him being the _perfect_ little rich boy he’d hoped for. It was like no matter what he did, he couldn’t please him.

Rufus said, “I suppose I’ll cut to the chase.” He sighed and set his own cup down, clasping his hands and fixing Call with a serious look. “Callum,” he said. “I am getting very old.”

“Yes.” Call agreed.

“Very soon I won’t be around to properly carry out my duties,” he continued carefully. “And...I think it’s time that you learn about your family history. Namely your mother’s.”

A hush seemed to fall over the room. Even the German tourists quieted some, like they knew the duo in the back of the restaurant were about to have a moment.

“My...mother.” The word felt foreign in Call’s mouth. When was the last time he even thought about her, his late mother? Alastair never mentioned her, neither did Rufus, and they were the only two family members left who knew her...or what happened to her.

“Fourteen years ago,” Rufus began. “My country, Genovia, was involved in a bitter war that took the lives of many people. The country was split in half on two opposing sides. Fear and murder rampaged across the land and few were spared from the cold clutches of death. A good number of those involved, unfortunately, were the royal family.

“We had a queen before then, a mighty ruler, but she perished along with her brother and cousins to the overlord known as Constantine.” Call felt a chill run up his spine at the name. “But for fourteen years my country has been without a proper ruler, and without the hopes of the people keeping the spirit alive, I’m afraid Genovia will begin to die.”

There was a pause. Call blinked. “Oh...I’m sorry for your loss?”

“That queen’s name was Sarah Novak von Rufus de la Iglesias,” Rufus said quietly. “Your mother.”

Call blinked again. “Oh.” Then he blinked two, three times more. “ _Oh_.”

Rufus waited calmly, letting the information sink in. But Call still wasn’t getting it. “Alright. So my mom was a queen,” he said a little distantly. He shrugged, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “Cool, I guess.”

He messed with the edge of the tablecloth, but Rufus still didn’t say anything, just stared at him. Call asked, “What?”

He sighed again (he was doing that a lot). “Don’t you understand what this means?”

“Uh, no?”

“It means,” he stressed. “That as of today, you aren’t Callum Hunt anymore.”

“I...” Call didn’t know how to respond to that. “ _Okay_. Then who am I?”

And then Rufus gave him this sad sort of look. He said, “You are Callum Hunt von Rufus de la Iglesias Novak, crown _Prince_ of Genovia.”

A beat.

_Huh._

_Well._

_That was...unexpected._

“A...prince,” he said slowly. “Me.”

And then he laughed.

It wasn’t a good laugh, not like a “wow you’re so funny” laugh or even a mildly alarmed chuckle-this was a laugh of pure panic. And when Call started panic-laughing, he couldn’t stop, because if he _did_ stop then he would delve straight into anxiety attack territory, which he did not want to do at a fancy restaurant in front of a legion of German tourists.

“You,” he said between bouts of hysterical giggles, “are insane. I can’t be a _prince_.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“B-Because!,” Call spluttered and gestured vaguely at himself. “I’m not ‘prince’ material. Look at me, I’m short and weird and I have a limp and bad hair, I’m terrible at sports and no one likes me. I can’t...”

He trailed off at the sympathetic look his uncle was giving him.

“I don’t know where these self confidence issues came from, but you shouldn’t think so badly of yourself,” said Rufus gently, making Call huff sarcastically. He plowed on, “You’re a smart young man and being athletic won’t dictate whether or not you’ll make a good ruler. And there’s nothing wrong with your hair.”

“That’s not...” He shifted uncomfortably in the fancy seat, suddenly extremely uncomfortable having this conversation in such a high class place. “Look. You can’t just tell me something like this and expect me to take it in stride. I need...time to process.”

“Most kids your age would be ecstatic to learn they were of royal descent!” _Yeah, most kids. In case you didn’t know, Uncle Rufus, I am not most kids._

“And look at the bright side,” He pulled out a pamphlet from one of his giant coat pockets and slid it across the table to Call, who picked it up with shaking hands. It was a brochure, from what he could tell. A large marble white castle against a blue sky with the words “Visit Today!” scrawled in fancy script across the top.

“You’ll be able to have anything you’ve ever wanted, and more. Doesn’t that sound great?” He tried for a smile, but Call was staring blankly at the table. He wasn’t laughing anymore. “And of course you’ll also love Genovia. The castle grounds this time of year are very beautiful. We have stables and fountains and beautiful gardens. You’ll love living there, I promise.”

Call felt sick at the implication. “Hold on,” he said, voice shaking. “Are you-I can’t just _move_. I have friends here! And what about my dad? And Havoc?”

Rufus’ sorry excuse for a smile twitched. “You’ll be able to visit during the summer, not a big deal. And your father thinks it’s a great idea-”

Call was horrified. He knew his father had to be getting irritated with him (especially as of late with the whole expulsion and detentions thing) but would he really go as far as to sending him off to a different country? _Well_ , he thought frantically in his mind, _It seems so; you’re holding the evidence right here in your hands!_

“-and I’m sure we can work out something to let your friends visit you,” Rufus was saying, but Call put a hand up to silence him.

“You know, you really have some _nerve_ ,” he began, and his uncle’s smile fell away completely. "I can’t believe you thought you could just turn up out of nowhere and just-just expect me to pack up everything and leave. You haven’t even been in my life at _all_ and now you just drop this bomb on me and decide to act like family when you _want_ something from me?”

His voice was getting increasingly angrier and louder, he could tell, because the German tourists were starting to look over at their table and whisper.

Rufus, on the other hand, looked pained, which was the most emotion Call had ever seen from him in all of his life. A small dark side of his mind hissed, _Good_.

“Now Callum-” he started, reaching across the table to grab his hand, but Call jerked away as if he’d been burned.

“No. No, I don’t want to listen to you.” He shook in his seat. “You can take your money and all your fancy crap and go back to Genovia by yourself because I’m not going to play dress up for you.”

He could almost imagine Tamara cheering from the sidelines.

“Callum, listen to me,” he pleaded. “This is just as hard for me as it is for you. You have to understand my side of the situation-” _Oh, so now he was trying to play the victim card? Seriously?_

“Okay,” Call said, standing up. “That’s it. I’m going home.”

Rufus rose from his seat as well and frowned. “You can’t just run from your problems, Callum. And I know where you live. You won’t be going anywhere I won’t find you.”

“Then I’ll go somewhere else,” he said with conviction. And before anyone could stop him, Call turned around and sprinted out of the restaurant as fast as his leg would let him.

“ _Callum Hunt!_ ,” Rufus barked, but Call was already running across the restaurant, through the open doors and out into the lobby, nearly bowling over Mr. Joseph when he tried to stop him, then through the rotating glass doors and down the streets of New York.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just ran.

 


	2. Cracking Open A Cold One With The Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then he sighed and closed his eyes, raising his soda can into the air like he was offering it to the gods. “Life...is shit.”
> 
> Call let out a wet-sounding laugh. “I can toast to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shows up five years late with iced coffee* Here, have some gays.
> 
> SHOUT OUT TO EVERYONE WHO YELLED AT ME TO UPDATE, YOUR SCREAMS AWAKENED ME FROM THE DEAD (like Aaron will in TSM) SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, I PRESENT TO YOU, CHAPTER 2

**TamTams** : rehearsals at 7 don’t forget

[received 6:37 pm]

 **TamTams:** r u still with ur uncle

[received 6:45 pm]

 **TamTams:** ur coming right

[received 7:05 pm]

 **TamTams:** ....Call.

[received 7:25 pm]

 **TamTams:** ???

[received 8:07 pm]

 **TamTams** : ??????

[received 9:24 pm]

 

* * *

 

 Night was approaching New York City and Callum Hunt was running down the street like a madman.

People ducked out of his way. Some even yelled at him to watch where he was going (couldn’t he see they were _walking here?_ ), but the majority of them ignored his erratic behavior, because if there’s one thing that’s true about New Yorkers, it's that they mind their damn business. Call couldn’t have been more thankful for this fact as he nearly crashed headfirst into a newspaper kiosk and the only person who had anything to say about it was a homeless man who yelled "THE END IS NEAR" and dove headfirst into a nearby alleyway.

He couldn’t keep running forever though. His leg was already starting to ache and he hadn’t even made it off of fifth avenue yet. He needed to find somewhere to recuperate and _fast_ before he passed out on the sidewalk from pain.

Unfortunately there wasn’t really anywhere he could go. He couldn’t go home, knowing that his Uncle Rufus was waiting for him-and he didn’t really have any other place besides there.

Well, he _could_ go to Tamara’s house. She lived in one of those giant brownstones across from Central Park that had those fancy guards in white gloves that only let you in if you looked rich enough to be there (speaking from experience), so maybe if he called her and explained the situation she’d let him live in her house for the rest of time? Maybe?

But the more he thought about it, the less plausible it became. Knowing Tamara, she’d totally freak out over him being a prince and would probably want to interview him for her TV show. And it’s _impossible_ to deny Tamara of something she wants, so he’d do it and it would end up on the news and then everyone at school would find out and-oh no, _what if everyone at school found out about this?_

His reputation would be _ruined_ (because you couldn’t very well be a self-entitled bad boy if you were a prince, now could you?) and everyone would make fun of him and _laugh_ because these types of things just didn’t happen to kids like Call. Kids like Aaron Stewart and Kylie Myles, sure, but not Call. He was too ugly and weird and stupid to be a prince. It was so hilariously ironic. He could be a _meme_.

Okay, so, back on the topic, Tamara definitely could _not_ find out about this. No one could. Call promised himself right then and there that he’d take this secret with him to the _grave_.

Somehow he ended up in front of a 7 Eleven (he didn’t even know there was a 7 Eleven on fifth avenue? what?) and decided that going inside would probably be a better bet than ultimately freezing to death outside on the street. He just hoped that he wouldn’t run into anyone from school in there. _That_ would be a nightmare.

Thankfully the shop was empty save for him and the person working the register, so Call made a beeline for the back shelves where they kept the drinks and grabbed five cans of iced coffee, then made his way to the front where he proceeded to dump them all onto the counter.

It wasn’t until he looked up at the cashier that he realized his greatest nightmare _had_ come to life. In the shape of wispy blond hair and surprised green eyes.

“Oh,” said Aaron Stewart.

 _"No!,”_ yelled Call.

Of all the people to run into tonight, Call probably least expected Aaron goody-two-shoes Stewart to be one of them. He was standing behind the register in the standard 7 eleven uniform, complete with a stupid name tag that said “hi, my name is Aaron!” in a horrific display of comic sans, and a dumb black button up top underneath. He was even wearing a visor. A _visor._

Call wanted to die. He seriously wanted to die.

Aaron, for his merit, didn’t seem to understand that he was the source of Call’s misfortune. “No?,” he echoed in confusion, eyebrows furrowing ~~cutely~~.

Call pointed at him. “No,” he said, grabbed as many coffee cans as he could, said, “No,” again, then slowly backed out of the store, still pointing both fingers at the extremely bewildered cashier, _“No.”_

“Uh, you have to pay for that,” he heard, but then the automatic doors drowned out the other boy’s voice, and Call found himself outside once again, this time feeling significantly more harassed and carrying significantly more stolen items than when he had first walked in.

Why did his life suck so much.

There wasn’t really anywhere else to go, so Call sat on the curb. He stretched out his leg and cracked open one of the coffee things and took a long swig, frowning a bit at the taste. Now alone with his thoughts, he attempted to make sense of this situation.

If there was one thing he didn’t understand about this whole mess (amongst other things) it was how his Uncle (and his father, let’s not forget he was also an accomplice in this) somehow managed to keep this a secret from him for this long. Like, he’s _been_ to Genovia. You’d think he would’ve noticed that he was the prince. Or at least that his uncle was the _king_.

Although...it sort of explained a lot of things. Like how Rufus had to travel everywhere in a limousine, or how every time they went to see a Broadway show they had to bring like five security guards along with them, or how whenever he visited Genovia he had to attend those stupid dinner parties at his uncle’s super huge mansion and sit still and not play with his food and use the proper silverware.

(Looking back on it, he realized that the ‘super huge mansion’ might have been the actual Genovian palace, and that old British woman that would come over sometimes and play pinnacle with him might have been the actual queen of fucking England)

Like, he knew it wasn’t necessarily normal for the average American family to own a vineyard in France, a summer home in Peru, and three private beaches along the coast of Japan, but he just thought his uncle was really rich. Not _royalty_.

Ten minutes into his existential crisis, he heard the automatic doors open again and footsteps approaching from behind. He sighed.

“You forgot to pay for-”

He threw a handful of quarters blindly behind him. They made loud pinging noises as they landed subsequently on the sidewalk.

“...ow.”

“I paid, so go away now,” he grumbled, refusing to look behind him. Then added, “Please,” as an afterthought.

Instead of being a normal human being and leaving when you’re told to leave, Aaron decided to sit down next to him on the curb. Call sighed again.

“Why are you here,” he said flatly.

Aaron replied, “I work here?”, and Call had to summon every bit of willpower not to roll his eyes directly into his head. “I mean, sort of. My foster parents own the store. I just like to come in sometimes after school to help out. I don’t really get paid though-”

“Fascinating. But I was talking about why you’re out here. With me.”

“Oh.” Surprise was evident in his voice. “Well, you looked like you needed someone to talk to.”

Call scoffed. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you’re fine? Or are you just saying that to make me go away?,” he asked, and just as Call opened his mouth to affirm that, yes, he was perfectly fine, the worst possible thing that could happen in this situation happened.

He started to cry.

And not just a few little crocodile tears either, he started full out sobbing right there in front of the 7 eleven. Like, ugly sobbing. Loudly. People were staring at him as they walked past.

There should be an award for the amount of times a person can hit rock bottom in one night. Call would be a world champion.

Aaron seemed to have expected this and wordlessly handed Call a stack of napkins. Call didn’t even bother protesting. He blew his nose.

Surprisingly Aaron didn’t try to hug him or tell him everything would be okay (empty words. Nothing would _ever_ be okay again), he just sat down a comfortable distance away on the curb and let Call cry it out. The only time he got up was when he went back to the store to flip the sign from “open” to “closed”.

“A-Are you allowed to do that?,” Call had asked between sobs.

“Probably not,” Aaron had said with a shrug, cracking open one of the coffee cans. “But I think this is a special case.”

When Call’s sobs finally calmed down enough to just hysteric sniffles with the occasional hiccup, the other boy held out an open bag of Cheetos to him as a peace offering.

“So...obviously something happened,” he said as Call took a handful and jammed like half the bag into his mouth. “You don’t have to tell me what if you don’t want to, but don’t try and tell me you’re fine when you’re clearly not fine.”

“It’s nothing,” Call said, rubbing violently at his nose. “It’s stupid.”

Aaron looked at him sympathetically. “It’s not stupid if it made you this upset. You can tell me.”

 _Why do you care?_ , Call wanted to shoot back, because, honestly, why _would_ Aaron Stewart, captain of the soccer team, most popular kid in school, teen heartthrob of the ninth (and tenth) grade class, even waste his breath on someone like Call? Obviously he had some ulterior motives here. Maybe he was secretly recording this and would post it on Instagram as soon as Call left.

But instead of calling him out like he was _supposed_ to, his traitorous mouth instead blurted out, “It’s just...something happened with my uncle.”

Aaron was clearly not expecting him to actually answer, so he appeared a bit taken aback for a moment before venturing, “Your uncle?” Then his eyes went wide. “Did he _die?_ ”

 _I wish_ , he thought darkly, but then immediately felt bad about it. “No, he came to visit me. And...we had a fight.” Close enough. “Long story short, I found out he’s been lying to me my whole life and instead of _apologizing_ , he tried to get me to do something to help him out, even though he’s barely been in my life, like, at all.” He gestured wildly, starting to get heated. “I mean, the nerve of him! He thinks that just because we’re family he can take whatever he wants from me like it’s nothing. Well, I’m _tired_ of being nothing to him. If he wants my help he can go fuck off because he’s not finding any sympathy from me, that’s for sure. Fuck him.”

Aaron sat quietly through Call’s rant, eyes wide as he sipped steadily from his coffee can. When Call finished, he swallowed, closed the cap, and breathed out a long sigh that puffed out his cheeks.

“Honestly, I can’t relate at all to what you just said,” he began. “But your uncle sounds really shitty. Full offense.”

Woah, did Golden Boy just curse? Call eyed him in a new light. An approving one. He said, “He _is_ shitty. He treats me like dirt every time he comes to visit. He just can’t accept the fact that I’m not going to be who he wants me to be. He can’t accept that fact that I’m a _loser_.” He kicked a pebble dejectedly into the road.

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” Aaron said. “I think you’re-pretty great.” He faltered and cleared his throat, cheeks pink for some reason.

Call huffed tiredly. “You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not,” he said, stretching a little. His hair glowed silver under the streetlamp. “But I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one.”

And then he sighed and closed his eyes, raising his soda can into the air like he was offering it to the gods. “Life...is shit.”

Call let out a wet-sounding laugh. “I can toast to that.”

They clinked cans and took long swigs of their respective drinks. It was surprisingly...nice sitting out there with Aaron Stewart, listening to the honks and sirens of nighttime Manhattan. They shared the bag of Cheetos between them and people-watched for awhile. It was almost like a movie date. Only, Call’s pretty sure that Aaron brushing his fingers against his when they reached for the Cheetos at the same time was purely accidental. Pretty sure.

“You wanna hear my advice?,” Aaron asked suddenly.

He shrugged. “Go for it.”

“I think you should give him a chance.” Call scowled. He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Listen, I’m not telling you to be the bigger person in this situation because, let’s face it, he’s the adult here and he should be taking responsibility for his own actions, but maybe if you do what he wants you to do, and do it well, maybe he’ll see you as more than just a failure.” He took a final sip of his coke. “And then when you have him completely won over, con the old coot for all he’s worth.”

A startled laugh broke out from Call so violently he had to support himself on the sidewalk. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you just _said_ that. Am I really talking to Aaron Stewart right now? Or his evil twin?”

Aaron grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I’m just full of surprises.”

"Yeah, no kidding." He eyed him. "I wonder why people always peg you as, like, super nice and overly happy. You're not really like that at all, huh?"

He shrugged. "That's what you get for being on the student council. And the soccer team. And being a boy scout." He smiled wryly. "People are always putting labels on other people without getting to know them first. They take one look at your appearance and slot you into a certain group in their minds. It gets pretty tiring, you know? Sometimes I wish I could just go somewhere where people wouldn't know me. Start over." He picked at his sleeve. "I mean, even _you_ hate me, and I didn't even do anything to you."

Call scratched his neck sheepishly, suddenly feeling terrible. "You're right," he admitted. "But I can see now that I was wrong about you. You're pretty cool, I guess."

The way Aaron lit up, it was like Call had just told him he'd won the million dollar Powerball. "Thanks," he said, and he really did sound grateful. "You're pretty cool too."

They smiled at each other. Aaron's smile in particular was very nice (albeit a bit odd, why was he staring at him like that? was there something on his face?) and Call was so distracted by his freckles that he almost forgot the circumstances that brought them together like this.

That is, until his ringtone went off.

Both of them jumped. Call groaned and finally worked up the courage to check his phone. 38 missed calls and 12 unanswered texts. Yikes.

Aaron bumped his shoulder, looking concerned. “Everything okay?”

“Not in the slightest,” he muttered, then got up and stretched. “I think I’ve been out here long enough. I should head home before my dad calls the cops. Again.”

Aaron got up too. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Dude, I live in Greenwich, there’s no way I’m walking.” Also, he didn’t need a _bodyguard_ to walk him home. He could take care of himself.

Golden Boy did not seem to like this arrangement, going by his scrunched up face (which was _not_ cute, shut up brain) “But-”

“It’s okay. I’ll just take the bus, alright?” He waved and started walking off. “See you at school.”

He got a good distance down the street before Aaron called out, “Wait, uh, Call?" He turned around. “You know, if you ever need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to come to me, okay? My door’s always open.”

He gestured at the 7 Eleven like it was a safe haven. Call couldn’t help but smile a little. What a goof. “Sure, Stewart. Bye.”

“Bye,” he said softly. Call walked off.

 

* * *

 

The second Call walked through the front doors of his apartment building, he was apprehended by the police.

Seriously. One second he was walking into the lobby, minding his own business, and the next thing he knew, he was being cuffed and interrogated by the fuzz like he’d committed some sort of felony. Which was totally unfair because he didn’t even _do_ anything this time.

At least they were nice about it. They asked him a few questions about why he’d run off (which he didn’t answer), where he’d been for the past two and a half hours (didn’t answer that either), and why he hadn’t come back home when he’d seen that an Amber Alert had gone out for him nearly an hour ago.

To which he replied “...oh, shit.”

He was even more fucked than originally perceived.

For the record, Call was totally expecting the roasting of a lifetime when he walked into his kitchen after being escorted up the elevator by four police officers and the old lady from 23C (Mrs. Jenkins never could mind her business. A shame). He just didn’t expect to get it from _two_ adults at the same time.

“Call, _there_ you are,” Alastair exclaimed, racing around the table to entrap his son in a bone-crushing hug. “What were you _thinking_ ? You could have been kidnapped or murdered or _worse_ -”

Over his shoulder, Call saw Uncle Rufus sitting regally (associating him with that word now had a totally new meaning, ugh) at the kitchen table in a fur coat and Alastair’s fuzzy novelty pink slippers and if that sentence didn’t seem strange to you, then you need to get your eyes checked because Call was pretty sure he was hallucinating.

Even in fuzzy slippers he looked like royalty, jeez. Again, Call felt the sudden urge to smack himself for not figuring this out sooner, but, to be fair, the Wikipedia article on the royal family needed some serious updating if he couldn’t even recognize his own uncle on the front page.

“So,” said Rufus, placing his hands calmly down on his lap (even though Call knew he was anything but calm, going by the twitching eyebrow), “Can you, in _any_ way, give us a perfectly logical explanation for your actions tonight?”

A long beat of silence. This was turning out worse than he thought. Both of them were giving him the Parental Stare Down™ and he was starting to feel nervous.

 _Con the old coot_ , his brain whispered to him, imitating Aaron’s voice. _Shut it_ , he whispered back, then straightened up. He had a plan. It was a very good plan, too. He thought of it on the bus ride to his apartment.

Call marched right over to Uncle Rufus and slammed his hands down on the table, fixing him with a hard stare. “I would like to propose a compromise.”

“A compromise?,” he repeated. Both him and Alastair looked marginally shocked. They probably didn’t even know Call _knew_ the meaning of the word compromise.

He wouldn’t let that stop him though. He nodded stiffly. “I don’t like you,” he told Rufus truthfully. “You lied to me and you’ve been a general butt to me for a long time and I’m really mad that you kept something this big from me for all these years.” Rufus opened his mouth, but Call held up a hand to silence him. “ _However_ , I know you well enough to know that you won’t leave me alone until you get what you want, so I’m willing to cooperate a little bit. Instead of moving to Genovia, I’m going to stay here and finish high school. I’m allowing you to stay in New York and teach me all there is to be a prince or whatever, _but,_ by March, if I _still_ don’t want to do it, I’m going to publicly renounce my status.”

Rufus’ eyebrows shot up into his non-existent hairline. “Who told you about renouncing?”

“Wikipedia,” he said smugly, holding up his phone. “And you know what else it told me? It said that there’s already someone in line to take the throne if I do renounce, so you can’t give me any crap about not having someone to fill in for me.” Mic. Fucking. Drop.

Alastair muttered something about medication and disappeared into his room. Rufus stared at Call like he’d just dropped off the face of the moon.

“You know, you’d be a great lawyer,” he said after a moment’s pause. “You could probably get into Yale.”

“I’m not going to college,” Call told him. “I’m dropping out of high school to join Greenpeace when I turn eighteen.”

Alastair returned just as Rufus was saying, “What the hell is a Greenpeace?,” with like five Advils and two powerades. He offered one to Rufus who, surprisingly, took it.

“Of course, if you _are_ going to stay behind and tutor me, I require some compensation for the foreseeable hours of endless torture...” He calmly examined his nails.

Rufus sighed through his nose and muttered something in Spanish, then took out his wallet. “How much do you want?”

“A hundred. Every week-no, every _day_ ,” Call said eagerly. “In cash. And a new collar for Havoc, preferably diamond-encrusted.

“ _Callum Hunt_ ,” Alastair hissed.

“What? He can afford it! He’s a _king_.”

“Is that all?,” Rufus cut into their growing argument. He looked extremely exhausted. Call only felt a little bit guilty about that. Just a little. “Why couldn’t you have decided this before running off? We were worried sick.”

 _You mean my dad was worried, don’t try to appeal to my emotions, old man_ , Call thought nastily. Out loud he said, “Oops?"

Alastair clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m proud of you for taking responsibility, son,” he said. Then, “Also you’re grounded until college.”

Havoc chose this heart-warming moment to deposit a dead bird onto the living room floor. Call, as his owner, was forced to clean it up, which pretty much goes to show that even if you suddenly become a prince overnight, some things never change.

“I need to make a business call,” Rufus said tiredly, then rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head as he left the room. Call counted that as a win.

 

* * *

 

**Royalty_watch posted:**

[image of stylishly dressed boy in sunglasses departing from a private jet terminal, carrying luggage]

 **@Royalty_watch** : #jasper dewinter is on the move! Wonder what he’s doing in New York??

#deWinter family #genovia #royalty #JFK airport

 

**Load comments [389]**

 

 **Yammitogo** : bet you he’s meeting up with King Rufus

 **Heyayaeyahe replied** : DUH

 **ggM8 replied** : ughughugh what are they doinggggg i need to knowwww

 **imlikeT-T** : he’s so hot omfg i love the new highlights!! <3

 **Ew** : ew.

 **Maya_M** : why does he look so pissed off lmao

 **imlikeT-T replied** : natural state of being

 **Lolrandum** : FIRST!

* * *

 

 **TamTams** : ....Call

[recieved 9:55 pm]

 **TamTams** : why were you hanging out with aaron stewart at the convenience store in the middle of the night?

[recieved 9:55 pm]

 **Call** : .....

[delivered 9:56 pm]

 **Call** : THAT SNITCH

[delivered 9:57 pm]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sitting outside a 7 Eleven in January in the middle of the night drinking gross canned coffee and talking about feelings. Romance is alive.
> 
> Currently exploring Aaron's character a bit, sorry if he seems depressed, it's because he is. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Up next: A wild Jasper appears!
> 
> (Heroes In My Castle will be updated at some point this week/weekend, sorry it's taking so long)

**Author's Note:**

> Idk how I'm going to be writing two stories at once, but I'll try my best.
> 
> yell @ me on tumblr (linaseraphina13) or just comment down below to get me to write faster idk


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